


How To Bring A Blush To The Snow

by ThereminVox



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 17:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15586824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereminVox/pseuds/ThereminVox





	How To Bring A Blush To The Snow

“Deputy, how tall are you?”

 

She huffs with mock chagrin, cheeks bunching as she turns her head round, eyes narrowing playfully at the smug man.

 

“Shorter than you.”

 

“Oh come now, bird.”

 

The man emits a sultry purr and steps forward from behind, enveloping her small frame with his larger, albeit still fairly slim, stature.

 

“You can’t be any more than 5 feet.”

 

“5 feet on a good day. 4’11 at the DMV.”

 

The man hums to himself, thoroughly pleased at this surprisingly endearing confession. John didn’t know how they ended up here, leaning over his balcony and gazing out unto a sky teasing the first hints of sunrise. The transitioning air was serene in the absence of loafing guards or crackling radio hisses signaled by three siblings requesting their brother’s presence.

 

This woman before him, wrapped snug (and willing) in his arms, had become a blinding beacon to sever his reign of dusk. All in a matter of seven days. He never quite knew, or even cared, for striving towards what he was missing. Ever conflicted, and comfortable, he was, in spite, to be content by the bond restored with what little left comprised his family, reinforced by the guarantee that they would never be separated again.

 

Although he failed to consider an alternative to how this entire course of events would ultimately pan out. He recalled their first encounter. The very first admission of either’s existence, where the Deputy had yet to refer to his little torture room as a “pedestrian sex dungeon”. They had exchanged fleeting glances and he had thought nothing more of her beyond how easy on the eyes she looked, seemingly indifferent and uninterested as she was urged to arrest his brother. Her reluctance and unconcern intrigued him and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t pleased with her decision to confront him first. She was all sardonic wit and just as much of a tempestuous mess as he was. The only difference was that she knew how to roll with the punches and come to terms with her shortcomings.

 

Her confession had been easy. Too easy, some might say. But, it was the first time he had ever expressed trouble and frustration identifying what sin she embodied. She proclaimed a virgin, yet her behavior and expression was in no way innocent. It was as if she asserted a balance between both virtue and vice. Every flustered reaction to his proximity, attended by hesitant yet confident assertions, reminded him of the purity of youth he couldn’t allow himself to keep preserved.

 

Difficulty rested in determining whether or not the illicit and crude themes of her thoughts and fantasies could be justly discerned as sinful. John was a man of action. Had always presented himself as such in the public’s sordid eye, and thus associated true sin by active impulse. But, of course, his analysis could only be conceived as projection, even if it had taken this very moment to realize.

 

She had partaken in a cigarette or two as a teen but drugs, alcohol and sex conveyed more or less as passing whims: fleeting elements that did little to remedy the fluctuating pangs of anhedonia. He wasn’t so inconsiderate as to acknowledge himself the sole bearer of burden. There were many Atlas’ before him and there will be many after but it wasn’t until now the twinge of empathy assaulted him. There had been many opportunities to engage in mutual affection but he would only limit himself to the indispensable luxury of mutual attraction. He indulged the high and trained his eye to flutter remiss and isolate from any swelling growth from the breast.

 

Trust, adoration, acceptance, were indulgences of which even the most affluent numbers of his salary could never hope to afford but somehow, some _where_ , God had deigned to answer his unspoken prayers and he could’ve sworn the breadth of his Voice had tickled insistently at his chin to retrieve him from the depths of his musing.

 

“Overthinking is supposed to be _my_ job, Phoenix Wright 2.0.”

 

The most precious of expenses, offered free of charge to what he had always been instilled to be an undeserving hand, firmly planted, quite literally, under his nose. He’s taken himself to chuckling more often. Genuine laughter: a stark contrast to his once exclusively satirical tongue. His mouth was so accustomed to being sharpened as a blade.

 

“Your thoughts are my thoughts, dear.”

 

He was tempted to say that his _sins_ were _her_ sins. Once more, because of her, he was able to embrace his vice in a positive light. He couldn’t identify an ounce of disappointment or pity in her touch or lingering gaze. She was the one addiction he would never bother to utter remorse.

 

Not days, but seven years, and more, would they spend basking in what John would have before ridiculed as ‘unconditional love’.

 

Together, they were Heaven and Hell, merged to one divine silver lining of deliverance.

 

 

What was missing in Joseph’s prophecy?

 

 

The hint of an eclipse peeking just above the horizon.

 


End file.
